The Further Adventures of Justin & Billy Chapter 8 From Justin's viewpoint
I gotta tell you that even though things around our place had been strained and strange for the past few weeks, I really wasn't prepared for what I found when I woke up Sunday morning. Billy lying beside me wasn't much of a surprise. But what the hell was that stench he was giving off? It must have been . . .
I bent down to sniff him at close range . . . cum for sure. I could smell his cum. At least I was pretty sure it was his, which eased my mind. If he'd smelled of Todd's cum, I don't know what I would have done. And cigarettes. He smelled of cigarettes. And beer. And B.O. He was vile. Even for Billy.
I got up and wanted nothing but to get in the shower. Just having slept beside him made me feel dirty. I guess I'd never heard him when had he come in. I must have been too sound asleep to be awakened by his stench. Lucky for him, probably.
I figured I'd just take my shower and head for school and my meeting with Professor Allen. I was mentally exhausted. By Billy. By Profess . . . Joe. By everything.
Professor Allen had kept his 10 drawing students in the studio until after 2 a.m. churning out quick sketch assignments. One after the other. I never understood what the point of it was.
That Sunday, of his 10 students, I was the only one who was headed back to the studio. But then I was pretty sure I was the only one of the 10 he was considering to mentor.
As I came out of the bathroom after my shower, I headed toward the kitchen to make some coffee. And there, asleep on my sofa, was a kid. His face angelic. He appeared to sleep so peacefully on a pillow from . . . I didn't know where.
My movement must have penetrated his sleep, because as I walked by, staring hard at his face and his mop of blond hair, his eyes opened. They were an amazing blue color that I loved and they were looking up. Right at me.
"You must be Justin," he said without lifting his head. His voice a bit muted and a little groggy. "I hope it was OK to crash here."
"I don't think I know who you are, or why you are here," I said, trying to sound stern. But I could hear the uncertainty and apprehension in my words as they came haltingly from my lips.
"I'm Tom," he said and finally began struggling to get up. He seemed to be having trouble sitting up. Like maybe he was drunk. Or on drugs. I watched as he finally, with too much effort, managed to right himself. Sitting upright. Looking like he would collapse without the sofa back to hold him there.
"I was out with Billy last night and he had a few too many beers. I brought him home, drove his car here, because I didn't have a ride. So then I was here, but didn't want to take his car to go home. Even though he said I should. I was too tired to argue with him and he was pretty fuckin' drunk. I just said OK. Once he was in bed next to you, I crashed here."
I don't know why, but I had to know. "Where did you get the pillow?"
"From that closet," he said, pointing, again with some difficulty, toward the closet where we hung our coats and jackets and shit.
That didn't make any sense, but I wasn't going to argue with this kid. How old was he anyway? "Are you old enough to drive?"
He gave me a dirty look and said, "I'm 18, buddy. I can drive."
I didn't like how this was going, so I asked if he wanted coffee and headed on my way, glad when he hollered after me that he didn't want any.
I tried to ignore the kid. At least I hadn't come home to find him in bed with Billy. When I was ready to leave, I couldn't find my keys and had to confront the sleeping kid again. "Where did you put my keys?"
"Your keys?" he asked.
"Yeah, that was my car you were driving. Billy's is shot, so I loaned him mine. There better not be any scratches in it," I said, finally sounding as menacing as I had hoped to earlier.
"So if your leaving and that's your car, how am I gonna get home?" he said, fishing through his jeans pockets for the keys. He handed the keys to me and asked pleadingly, "Are you gonna take me?"
"Not my problem," I said and headed off to school. Billy could deal with that.
When I got to school, I half expected Professor Allen to be waiting for me again. But he wasn't. So I just looked around the room. The sketches he'd pinned up last night with his comments on them were still there. None of them very positive. Not even the ones on my sketches.
The whole night had been spent on perspective. It had just about driven me crazy.
Now, waiting for Professor Allen, I was leaning, my butt sideway against a window ledge, looking out at the little bit of trees and grass this section of our city-bound campus offered. It was sort of pastoral and pathetic all at the same time.
I was daydreaming about living a life of luxury with Billy. Traveling. Meeting interesting people. Clothes. Cars. Money. Success. Admiration. . . . The words were appearing on billboards as Billy and I sped by them in our new Porsche. Just these huge words and our pictures with them on the huge billboards.
I realized the phone had been ringing in Professor Allen's office. I think I really noticed it when it finally stopped.
A minute or so later, it started ringing again. I was tempted to see if his office was open. If so, I could answer the phone for him. But before I could try the door, the ringing stopped again.
I decided to check his office door anyway. I'm not sure why. I was just curious whether he kept it locked. I guess I'd never thought about it. I'd just assumed . . .
The doorknob turned easily in my hand and the heavy oak door with its frosted glass pane swung open. Its weight evident even as it swung easily on its heavy hinges. I stood for a minute. Mindlessly staring in. I could picture him standing there by his desk. So attractive. So virile. So sexy. I started to move toward this visage of him in my mind when . . .
Ring. Ring. Ring.
Such a very old-fashioned ringing sound. Coming from that sleek-yet-complicated-looking phone on his desk.
Ring. Ring. Ring.
"Hello?" I said tentatively into the phone, not sure what else I should say. Or could say. Who would I say I was? Why was I answering the phone? I almost hung up before anyone could answer me.
"Oh, good, Justin. I'd hoped you'd pick up. So smart of you to figure out how to answer that thing. I'm running late this morning because last night ran so late. Can you just come over here instead? It would be a great assistance to me."
What could I say but . . . "Sure. No problem. Shouldn't be more than a few minutes. Do you need me to bring anything?"
"How thoughtful. No. I don't . . . Oh, yes, could you pick up some cream or half and half or whatever it was you liked in your coffee. And maybe a few bagels and cream cheese. The best are from . . ."
Before he was done, I had to get a paper and pen to write down the series of little errands he'd given me. I never would have remembered what to get and where.
"I hate to ask you to hurry, but I am on a tight schedule today. Oh, one more thing. Do you have a card for an automatic bankteller? I seem to have misplaced my wallet and I may need some cash."
"Yeah, I do," I said. "Would $20 be enough?"
"Could you make it $75 to be on the safe side?"
"I'll have to get $80 then. I don't think it gives anything but $20s," I said, really put out and trying to hide it. I didn't have much cash to withdraw and if I loaned it to him . . . Shit!
When I got to his place with all the stuff he wanted, it was almost an hour later.
He was in the middle of getting dressed, with a tie and all. He told me to set up breakfast on the counter. He'd be right there.
About 10 minutes later he came in wearing a suit. As always, he looked incredible, but I was still pissed at the way he was ordering me around like hired help.
He sat down at the counter with me and we started to eat. After a few moments had passed in silence, he said, "I am really sorry about this morning. It's just gotten completely away from me and I have to leave shortly. I don't think there is enough time to try to show you anything, but maybe we could . . ."
He paused and let his suggestion, which he had not even had to put into words, hang in the air.
I didn't say anything. I didn't know what to say. I thought I knew what he was suggesting, but what if I was wrong? What if he didn't mean he wanted to have sex of some sort or other?
The silence hung between us. It was like a dare or something. Who would yield? Who had the upper hand in this?
Finally he said, "Maybe this week you could help me." He raised his eyebrows trying to look hopefully optimistic. But instead he just looked kind of dumb.
I remained silent to his suggestion, whatever it was, for a long time. At last he gave me this very serious look and tilted his head just so. The sign was clear. He expected an answer and he expected it to be yes.
"Can I talk to you about dinner with Billy and me first?" I asked, hoping to move away from his question.
"Yes. Go ahead. Certainly."
"Well, it hasn't been a good week for Billy and me and I haven't asked him about it yet. I was wondering if I could maybe get back to you on that in a week or so."
"Have you told Billy of my plans for you? Both of you?" he asked.
"I . . ." I said, stopping almost as soon as I started. I was gong to lie, but then, after a pause, I said, "No."
"Why?" he asked in sort of a haughty tone. Then, "No. Let me guess. You're relationship isn't as open as you had suggested it was, is it, Justin?
I paused again. I could feel everything I wanted slipping away. The tutoring. The introductions. The travel. The opportunities.
I looked at him hard. Trying to see inside his head. I couldn't. At last, I said, "No. It's not. But if I can talk to him, I think that can change. Once he understands."
"So you'd like another week? It's yours. Take a week if you need it. Take two. But I'll need your answer then."
"Thanks so much. I mean that's really understanding of you."
"No problem," he said. And then in the same business-like voice, he added, "And now, I need a hand from you. Can you get me off, please? Without getting any on my suit, if you don't mind."
How could he be this way? He knew I was struggling with Billy and the balance of our relationship. I'd made that clear. Hadn't I?
So how could he ask this? My heart sank.
I had only two choices. I could say "yes" and almost guarantee that I would lose Billy before this was over. Or I could say "no" and almost guarantee that I would lose everything that I wanted in this world in terms of success, recognition, and fulfillment. I could have everything. Or I could have Billy.
I thought about that for what seemed like days, but could not have been more than a second or two at most.
I thought about what I had already done. With Billy. Jess. Ted. Phil and Todd and on and on. How different was this really? The guy just wants me to jerk him off. What harm is there in that?
I thought about how hard my life with Billy had been these past months. How nothing seemed to be good enough to make him happy.
I thought of Billy. Pictured him perfectly before me. And then looked back up at Joe. I had my answer as fast as that. I gave Joe a smile that would give the pope a hard-on. Then I reached out my hand and cupped his crotch. He smiled. Until I told him the only answer that made any sense to me just then.
"I'm sorry, but I can't. I really want to make this work with you. And I really think it can. I think I can be the person you're looking for. But I need time just now."
"Let me get this straight," he said in a perfectly calm voice, like he was making sure he had heard the time of day correctly, "you are telling me you won't help me ejaculate . . . or jerk off or whatever you call it?"
"Yes, sir," I said, uncertainty shaking my voice as I tried to sound resolved.
He straightened his tie and wriggled his shoulders in his suit jacket. He turned to leave. As he opened the door, he paused and said, "Please lock up when you let yourself out. We'll talk tomorrow."
To Be Continued . . .
AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is the second book in the "I Thought I Knew" series. It is not necessary to read the books in order, although Book 1 chronologically precedes this book. It can be found under the title "I Thought I Knew" in the High School section. /nifty/gay/highschool/i-thought-i-knew/
The characters in this project are real. The names and some other identifying information in this story have been changed to conceal the identities of the characters described. The Copyright for this story is held by Hardreader. The story may not be reprinted or distributed elsewhere in print, electronically or digitally without the permission of the author.
I would love to receive comments on this story from readers. Email me at hardreader2000@aol.com
While you're waiting for the next episode, I hope you'll stay happy. And stay hard! -- H.R.